


the storyteller's kiss

by bladeCleaner



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, could be interpreted as a companion to Colour Me Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeCleaner/pseuds/bladeCleaner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Handmaid and the Signless exchange stories about death, life and love, falling in the last before they even realize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the storyteller's kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [graveExcitement (arachnids)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnids/gifts).



> "Because I could not stop for Death—  
> He kindly stopped for me—  
> The Carriage held but just Ourselves—  
> And Immortality."  
> -Emily Dickinson

You don’t want to remember the way he smiled at you, the first time.  
  
You were still young then, barely out of your adolescence but still so very old. Your master had given you a task on one of his black papers. You were to entertain the delusions of a mutantblood.   
  
You appear to him as he’s playing in the desert night, his Dolorosa mother out to buy supplies. You expect him to flinch, or to spit, or to curse, but he doesn’t say anything as you approach. His eyes are yellow and still clear, wide and twin stars, as you float towards him. He looks about five sweeps and the only feeling you can get from him is that he’s gentle. Then when you step into the rose moonlight, to your surprise, he smiles like you’re some kind of revelation he’s been waiting for.  
  
“Hello,” he says, his voice rough. Then he says, “You’re really pretty! Where are you from?”  
  
A little taken aback, you point up to the jade moon. “From up there.”  
  
He grins. “Wow, a space troll! Do you want to play with me? We can tell stories! You can tell me all about the universe, too, since you live so far away. My lusus won’t tell me anything.”  
  
Reluctantly, you sit with him around the fire and tell stories. You don’t say much, but you listen to him. You think to yourself:  _at least they did not make me kill him. At least he will live whatever short life he will have._

\--

"Once upon a time," he begins, "there were twelve trolls. They all bled differently. But in this world, in this time, no one cared for blood-everyone was equal, regardless of hue. There was one troll girl in particular," he smiles now, "she swore a lot in this language I didn't understand and was kind of...."

"A bitch?" You offer. You smile sweetly. 

"Beautiful anyway," he says. He's six sweeps now, grown into his maturity. He's become a sweet-talker, soothsayer, drawing up words that could make the hardest troll's pusher bleed around the edges. 

"You're a liar, Kankri Vantas," you say, "But you're a better charmer in this life than you were then."

"You really like taking the piss out of me, Megido," he laughs, throaty and ultimately gorgeous. "Your turn."

Nights like these, you two can pretend you're just two wigglers hanging out, instead of one demoness who can't die and a mutantblood destined for death, whiling away what short time you have together. You finish each other's stories. 

"She was the employer of a green demon," He winces. "Someone broke her spirit really young and she ran to evil like a monster to darkness. She died at the hand of a thief, which was the end she deserved."

He frowns. He never likes your endings.

"They're always too sad," he insists. "There's got to be a happy one sometime."

You disappear.

\--

The next night you come back. He runs towards you, expression puzzled, until you show him what you have for him:

A rocket-car. His ticket out of the desert.

"Make your own happy ending," you tell him, mouth aching, heart full. He stares at you with eyes like stars.

You sit with him every night that sweep, until he’s certain of the rebellion he wants to raise. Then, you leave without saying goodbye, without saying anything, swearing to yourself that you will forget his smile, his beautiful words, his immense heart.   
  
\--  
  
Unfortunately for the both of you, you see him again. You cannot bear all the weight of your burdens one night and break away to see him. This time his eyes are weary. In this time he has grown up well and has heard of you by now. But his smile is the same as ever when he approaches you, if a little doubting, if a little surprised. He walks with you on the desert sands again.

"I missed you."

You don't allow yourself to say anything.

"I won't believe what they say about you, you know."

You purse your lips.

"Megido-"

"That isn't my name."

When the moons reach their respective zeniths, he asks you, “Could you tell me your real name then, Handmaid?”  
  
“I don’t have one.”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“I was destined for one purpose, and one purpose only. I did not require a name for it. I am the Handmaid; I go by no other name.”  
  
“That's sad.”  
  
You halt. “You are the only one that thinks so, but I thank you.”  
  
“For what? I should be thanking you.”  
  
“…for?”  
  
“Inspiring me to chase my dream.”  
  
He smiles at you. To your dismay, you inscribe it into your mind. You will remember how his eyes were crinkled, the way the jade and pink moonlight settled on the sides of his grey face and his lips pulled into a light-hearted grin.  
  
There is a heartache in you when you disappear, but you cannot discern what it means.  
  
\--  
  
The tyrian-blooded grubs all lie in a bloody heap in the caves. The jadeblood that was watching from the shadows has already absconded to safer sanctums.  
  
You are already down to your very last sheets. Before this, you ensured all the Empress’ educators were bloody-minded bigots.  
  
You shake out a crumpled paper.  
  
Your heart freezes.  
  
\--  
  
This time, you appear in front of him. It is the dead of night; everyone in his camp is wondering where he is. He is standing on the rooftop of his childhood home, flat on his back, watching the stars.  
  
“Handmaid!” he sits up abruptly, waving and grinning.  
  
You walk towards him. Even as you are broken and feared as Death’s dealer by all, he greets you like a friend.   
  
You bend down and he looks at you, puzzled. You have never been this close to him before and you can see his face so clearly; the scars on his cheeks and the brilliance of his irises, the sharpness of his nose and the tenderness of his lips.  
  
You caress his cheek and he leans into your hand, natural as anything.  
  
You press your lips to his, soft and light. He curls his hand up in your hair and leans in, deepening the kiss into something: a promise, a confession, or both. You grip his shoulders, savouring what warmth you can still feel from him. He is radiating heat and you curve your body into it, like a moth to light.  
  
You break away, the taste of him still fresh on your tongue and breathe into his mouth, “I’m sorry.”  
  
Then you disappear without saying another word.


End file.
